Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two

by N. C. Reed

  The guard on each place, whether at the artillery site, the bunker, or the small headquarters for the newly formed 'Ordnance' department of the Army of Soulan, security was tight, a full company of men on duty at all times. In all, an entire battalion of men separated from the army to defend these areas of vital supplies.

  Soldiers complained bitterly about being uprooted from their camps, wondering why they had drawn the short straw on some stupid guard duty of some general officer's personal harem or race horses or whiskey stash, or whatever rumor made the rounds over the next two days.

  None of them had a hint of the truth. In all the camp, less than two hundred men knew that Roda Finn had just helped even the odds against a struggling Soulan Army.

  *****

  “Are we ready?” Wilson demanded, looking at his corps commanders. “We had better be,” he added testily.

  “All but our cavalry,” his senior commander, General Milton Fairmount nodded.

  “We won't have Stone's cavalry for this attack,” Wilson told them flatly. “Soulanies have been raiding the rear and he's gone to put a stop to it.” I hope, Wilson didn't have to add.

  “Taking a risk, sir, not to have Stone guarding our flank, “General Darrell Thomas, commander of the 3rd Corps remarked. “Soulanie's horsemen could get around our flank without them.”

  “Soulanie horsemen are in our rear areas,” Wilson bit out. “Long way from us here. Stone will keep them occupied. We haven't seen a southern horseman since the last battle to amount to anything. A few pickets and couriers, but no real cavalry force. No probes, no reconnaissance-in-strength, nothing to indicate they have more than a corporal's guard of cavalry left in their camp.”

  The four assembled commanders looked uneasy at that report but said nothing. Their fifth counterpart was absent from this meeting because it had been his generals that had allowed the flanking attack some weeks ago that had all but decimated his own command. Wilson had been extremely angry since then and none of them wanted to attract his ire.

  “Tomorrow, sixteen divisions will attack the Soulan lines,” Wilson indicated the map behind him. “Well over one hundred and twenty thousand well trained, well led men with the best equipment we can give them. I expect them, and all of you, to give a good account of yourselves in battle. The southerners are behind fixed fortifications, from here,” he indicated a slough of the river, “to well past this small town, here,” he indicated a place called Gleacin. “Our estimates are that the Soulan units arrayed against us total no more than fifty thousand men, and that's being generous. Their losses at Loville and the retreat from there were heavy, and we've seen nothing as yet to indicate that they've received substantial reinforcements.”

  “We're going to hit them before they can get help and roll right over them,” he said grimly, looking back to his commanders.

  “We've taken over a month since our last action to put new plans into place, to train some of our greener recruits, and to stockpile supplies. In that time we've been forced to send more and more men north to protect out supply lines. At this rate, if we don't attack soon, the Soulanies will outnumber us!” he grinned to show that part was a jest, but he was serious about no more delays.

  “I want complete quiet come morning,” he ordered. “Lines will form an hour before light, in silence and the dark. Have regimental and company officers out today inspecting where their men will be, familiarizing themselves with the ground. I want no mistakes, and I don't want the southerners to know we're coming until they see us coming out of the fog. Noise discipline will be strictly enforced for this. If it's broken, kill the offender.”

  “Three Corps will be in reserve along with our actual reserve Corps,” he went back to the map. “Thomas, I want you poised to capitalize on any breakthroughs or any weakness in the Soulanie lines that we can exploit.” General Thomas nodded.

  “The Reserve Corps has the rough equivalent of two divisions,” Wilson informed them. “If any of you get into a bind, I can probably send you assistance, but it won't be more than a brigade, and will likely be short. Figure two regiments at most. Don't plan on that help, gentlemen. Plan to do this yourselves. But know that some limited assistance is there for the asking in dark times.” All of them nodded, grateful for any help.

  “Any questions?” he asked. There were none. Each man here knew his job well.

  “Very well then, gentlemen,” he nodded. “Be about your work. See to your commands and be ready an hour before sunrise coming morning. Dismissed.” The men filed out of the small house until it was just Wilson and Fairmount remaining.

  “What is it, Milt?” Wilson asked.

  “Big gamble, sir,” Fairmount said at once, looking at the map.

  “I don't think so,” Wilson shook his head.

  “Soulanie cavalry is out there, we're screwed,” Fairmount tried again.

  “They're not,” Wilson shook his head stubbornly. “They're tearing up our rear areas right now, probably.”

  “At least see if the savages will cover our flank, then, Gerry,” Fairmount took advantage of a decades old friendship to urge caution once more. “Better than nothing,” he added with a shrug.

  “We've not been successful in getting the Tribe's assistance in endeavors like this,” Wilson shrugged. “But I will try,” he added when he saw a frown starting to form on Fairmount's features. The frown lessened at the statement.

  “It's a good plan,” Fairmount offered, almost in way of apology.

  “We'll see come morning.”

  *****

  “We can expect an attack at any time,” Parno told his assembled generals that evening. “It could come as soon as dawn for that matter,” he added and saw several nods.

  “With that in mind, we will be standing to an hour before dawn every morning, beginning tomorrow,” he continued. “Scouts will deploy in a screen ranging out to two hundred yards, with bonfires lit starting at one hundred yards. One of the tricks the Nor liked to use at the Gap was to approach in darkness, trying to keep sound to a minimum. Only good scouts prevented it from surprising us.”

  “Our engineers have been deploying some of the new weapons that we first used at the Gap,” Parno indicated his own men, Seymour among them. “Major Seymour commanded my crossbow company at the Gap and has briefed your own men this afternoon on what they're looking for and when to fire.” He waved for Seymour to speak.

  “Your crossbowmen will need to be near the front ranks, but cannot engage the enemy directly until their mission is complete. Those of you who watched us deploy this afternoon saw their targets,” Seymour pointed to a table where an inert clay mine sat.

  “I know that it looks harmless,” he grinned. “I assure you it is anything but. We have a great many more of them than we did at the Gap, but there is a great deal more territory to cover as well, so the screen is thin to say the least. While the mines will be important, and will play a major role in blunting the attack, they won't win the battle by themselves. Still, don't allow the crossbowmen to be diverted to other missions until the mines are exhausted.” With that Seymour stepped back to his place along the wall.

  “I know it seems ridiculous,” Parno resumed his briefing. “When you see them in action you'll understand. Not all of them will work, and some bolts won't hit the target, but at least the first round will be worth something for shock value alone. We've seen it before, and I assure you it will work, at least once. Even if the survivors of the Gap have told the Imperial commanders what to expect, they will have to see it for themselves to believe it. They won't want to believe it, otherwise, and will look for any other reason as the excuse for their defeat in the east.”

  “Hopefully our cavalry battle a few weeks ago have given them that excuse,” he grinned again, to several chuckles from the men in the room. “Archers have been issued a new kind of arrow as well,” he continued. “Your archery commanders were allowed to see a few of those arrows in use this afternoon, so they know what to expect. Each division has a
full battalion of archers armed with these new arrows and orders on how and when to use them. As Major Seymour noted, they aren't to interfered with. They might make a great deal of difference in the coming battle, so long as they last. Again, we've used them before to good effect. They aren't going to be as damaging as the mines by themselves, but launched in flights by four or five hundred expert bowmen you can expect them to get results.”

  “We're outnumbered,” Parno said flatly. “Heavily so. We expect the odds to be at least three-to-one if not higher. Not insurmountable, but a concern nonetheless. We have help coming, but not soon enough. In a perfect world, we would use our cavalry to skirt their flank and counter-attack them, but we simply don't have the manpower. As a result, the 4th Cavalry will be posted on the left as a guard against the same kind of attack from the Nor, as well as a screening element against any possible incursion by Tribal warriors in the Nor's employ.”

  “The 2nd and 6th Cavalry will be deployed here, and here,” he indicated the positions on the map behind him, “as both reserves to counter any breakthrough, and a ready force to press any advantage we happen to find. The 9th Cavalry, on loan from Third Corps, will be stationed further back as a guard against a deep flanking incursion.

  The line will be as it is now, centered on the infantry and mounted infantry units, with artillery deployed all along the rear in support. Major Lars,” Parno looked to another of his own men. The bulky Major Lars stepped forward.

  “We have a good deal of special ordnance for our artillery to use against the Nor,” he said without preamble. “Similar to the mines, these weapons will make a major impact on the Nor. We've seen it ourselves, and the damage the weapons inflict, along with the shock value, will be tremendous. As with the mines, however, it will not win the battle for us.”

  “The new ordnance has been distributed to the best artillery battalions from each Corps. We've taken them to the rear and made sure they are aware of the care that must be taken in handling these weapons. I cannot stress enough how careful they must be. Some of my own men who are experienced in their use will be assigned to each unit as advisers. For all our sake, please listen when they speak. They know all too well what can happen if things go awry with these weapons.” Like Seymour had, Lars stepped back without taking questions.

  “These new 'gadgets', as they've often been called,” Parno resumed, “will be helpful, but make no mistake that we're in for a brawl. I don't have to tell you that the Nor have a much better trained army than at any time in our recent history. They're tough, and fairly well led.” Heads nodded around the room.

  “They're also somewhat predictable and a bit too locked into that training,” Parno continued. “They don't seem to think well when presented with a scenario they aren't trained or prepared for. Since we haven't used these weapons here yet, they may well assume we either don't have them, or we've used them all. Either way works for us.”

  “But as I said, we're still in for a brawl. We may manage to break their first attack, or even the second, but they will keep coming, and will probably reach our lines eventually no matter what we do. There's no point in thinking for even a minute that this won't come down to sword, pike and shield. It will.”

  “For many of you, this will be the first pitched battle of the war. It's hell. I learned that the hard way. Expect losses, and expect them to hurt. They will. There's no way around it that I can find, and I've looked hard. We are going to get hurt.” He paused, letting that sink in.

  “But we're going to win,” he said flatly, finishing his miniature pep talk.

  “Are there any questions?” he asked after another pause. One man raised a hesitant hand.

  “Yes?”

  “If we have to withdraw-”

  “We won't be withdrawing,” Parno cut the man off. “We don't have anywhere to go. The Nor have gone as far into our territory as they're going to. This is where we stop them. Anyone else?” his tone left no room for discussion.

  “Very well then,” Parno straightened when no one else had questions for him. “Each command will be responsible for their own runners. Any orders from me will likely be carried by one of my own men. Unless something happens, your runners can find me here,” he indicated a central point behind the main line. “If I move, someone will be there to let your runner know where. Do not look to me for orders, however. Your immediate superiors have my full confidence and know all of my plans.”

  “We will kick their ass, gentlemen,” he almost growled, his eyes glowering. “We've had quite enough of this foolishness, and it stops here. See to your commands, gentlemen,” he dismissed. The men stood, came to attention as a group, then broke apart, heading for their own commands surrounded by their subordinates as plans were finalized even as they walked.

  Parno watched them go as Davies approached him. He nodded to the older man.

  “General.”

  “Milord,” Davies returned the nod. “Do you wish to make plans for a counter-attack should the opportunity arise?”

  “No,” Parno shook his head. “Not until Freeman and Herrick get here at any rate. With their strength, then yes. We'll definitely be launching our own attack. Not until then.”

  “Very well,” Davies nodded, almost relieved. “These weapons are quite something, milord,” he changed the subject. He had seen one of the mines hit, as well as the Hubel arrows.

  “They are that,” Parno grinned wryly. “With any luck, they'll be the difference tomorrow. Or whenever the attack comes.”

  “But you think tomorrow,” Davies said.

  “I do, and have no idea why,” Parno admitted. “We'll see soon enough, I suppose. Parsons should be back soon.”

  Almost as if he'd conjured him, Parsons arrived less than five minutes later. He was sweat stained and dirty, but looked triumphant.

  “Good news then?” Parno asked with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Depends on your definition, milord,” Parsons admitted. “But I can show you where most of the Nor army is at the moment,” he spread his map out on the table. “And I can tell you that they were issuing field rations to their men.”

  The staff still in the room exchanged glances. Issuing field rations was only done when commanders expected an army to be on the move. Soon.

  “Show me, then,” Parno ordered.

  It would be a long night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  -

  Callens paced back and forth near the fire, his back to his tent. He and his men had been on site for a week with no word from either Prince Therron or Princess Sherron. He shook his head slightly at his own foolishness in obeying her orders to start with. Now here he was, having led his men in what even the most generous soul would see as treason, with no one to answer to for his actions other than himself.

  Not for the first time he cursed his affliction for Sherron McLeod. Damn the woman. If not for her he wouldn't be in this mess. He shook his head again, angry now at himself.

  He was in this mess because of his own weakness and nothing else. Again he had the thought that if any of his men were so besot with a woman he'd have long ago gotten rid of them, and this was why. A man addled by a woman was a risk to himself and his fellows, and he'd just proven that be-

  “Colonel, the pickets have apprehended a rider,” one of his company commanders interrupted his train of thought. “He claims to be a servant of Her Ladyship.”

  “Bring him,” Callens ordered briskly. Perhaps he was about to get some answers after all. Minutes later he was looking at the same rider he'd seen two weeks earlier, though this time looking dirty and disheveled.

  “Well?” Callens demanded when the man looked at him.

  “Her Ladyship appears to have been detained, Colonel, along with most of her staff,” the man reported. “I observed this from just outside their reach. I cannot confirm that the Princess herself is actual being held, but my fellows have all been detained by Royal Constables inside the Palace.” Callens felt a cold finger trace down his spine
at this report.

  “So we're discovered then?” he demanded, taking a step forward.

  “I do not know,” the man admitted reluctantly. “I know only what I've reported. I cannot ascertain where Prince Therron is, either. It is being circulated throughout the Palace and the city that he is ill, and has been sent South for his health, but. . .that covers a lot of territory. I've found no one that can tell me where he might be. If he truly is ill, then that should narrow-”

  “He isn't,” Callens cut the man off. “He's been removed from his place because of his popularity, and that of Her Ladyship.” He watched the man carefully, but all he got in return was a nod.

  “I assumed as much,” the servant replied.

  “Did you see Her Ladyship at all?” Callens demanded. “In custody I mean?” he clarified.

  “No, Colonel. I did not.”

  “Probably in her suite, then,” Callens said thoughtfully. “We need to get her out. Do you think you could get myself and some of my men inside the Palace?” he asked.

  “I can,” the man said at once. “Fairly easily.”

  The faintest glimmer of a plan began to form in Callens' mind. He motioned toward his tent.

  “Join me,” he ordered. “We have a great deal to talk about.”

  *****

  “What are you doing?”

  Stephanie turned to see Winnie Hubel standing behind her, watching as one of the soldiers assigned to her escort loaded her bags into the ambulance she used as a transport.

  “I'm. . .I'm taking a trip,” Stephanie told her haltingly, resisting the urge to fan away her blush. “What are you doing?”

  “Watching you squirm,” Winnie teased. “Where are you going?” she asked more seriously.

  “Just. . .off and away for a few days, that's all,” Stephanie waved the question away as if it were a bird or a bug.

  “You're going west to see Parno,” Winnie accused. “That's why your doctor's bag is going,” she pointed to the large cowhide bag with Stephanie's initials on it waiting to be loaded.